


Parts Unknown

by IndusCosmina



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, Food, Journalism, Light Angst, Mourning, Tribute, cross-cultural connections, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:12:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndusCosmina/pseuds/IndusCosmina
Summary: This is a tribute piece and involves the fictional representation of a real, deceased person. No offense intended.The first time Kara Danvers meets Anthony Bourdain, she is sneaking out from an optional luncheon at a journalism conference in Metropolis where her appetite would be both noticeable and unsated by the dry hotel chicken and sinfully under-spiced pilaf.





	Parts Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tribute piece to Anthony Bourdain, an amazing food journalist and cultural figure who ended his own life a few days ago. I was really shaken up, as were many people, and I guess this piece is me trying to process that, in part. 
> 
> I hesitated on posting this because as a reader, I feel weird about fics on real people, but I've done my best to be respectful and accurate to my portrayal of Mr. Bourdain and his work. For the most part, I've done this by approaching this as a character study for Kara, who I think would have really loved the concept of a food journalist/social advocate/layman's diplomat. 
> 
> I don't mean to offend anyone with this portrayal, and I welcome feedback and any constructive crit.

The first time Kara Danvers meets Anthony Bourdain, she is sneaking out from an optional luncheon at a journalism conference in Metropolis where her appetite would be both noticeable and unsated by the dry hotel chicken and sinfully under-spiced pilaf.

She finds her way there through the usual method – the overwhelming scent of soft steamed dumplings had her mouth watering even as her session wrapped up in the packed conference center two blocks away. Taking care not to jostle anyone in the crowd – the last thing she needed was to call Alex or worse, _Clark_ , for damage control after another accidental body check with a human – she forces herself to walk at a normal pace down the busy avenue. 

The restaurant is a real hole-in-the-wall and in the warm dim lighting, Kara takes a picture of her favorite of the 4 entrees she has ordered – _officially the world’s most amazing Peking duck!_ \- to show off on her official CatCo Twitter account. She uses the conference hashtag and hopes the organizers take it as a hint on what next year’s food options should be. 

People post pictures of amazing food online all the time, the girls at the table squished in next to hers are doing the exact same with their meals, but almost instantly her phone pings with a notification from Alex.

_Kara, geotagging your tweets means anyone can find you down to a longitudinal level. Change your preferences!_

Kara makes the difficult decision of texting her sister back as the duck steams enticingly. _I’m a journalist! Telling people things online is my actual job!!_

She entertains a brief emoji battle of increasingly abstract vegetables, pastries, and a single Canada goose from her end before she rests the phone face down. She’s done with the conference for today and is pondering suiting up and hanging out with Superman when she feels a tap on her shoulder. 

“Hey, excuse me, do you mind if I sit with you? All the other tables are full.”

She looks up with a smile, happy to acquiesce, when she feels her mouth actually drop. Anthony Bourdain, her true hero of food journalism, stands cramped in the small alley of tables surrounding her, precariously balancing a full meal tray. On his plate is a familiar Peking duck. 

Kara looks around owlishly, not needing to lower her glasses to know that she won’t find any of the usual camera crew that follows this man around. 

“Just me,” he chuckles, seemingly at ease with his heavy tray in the tight space. Kara remembers that he’s run whole restaurants, waited in huge restaurants, and has eaten at maybe as many as she has since she arrived on this delicious planet. 

“I – sir – it’s – um, an honor. Golly, where are my manners. Yes, please, sit down,” she stutters, pushing aside her embarrassingly high pile of discarded dishes to make room for his own.

“Kara Danvers, right?” He reaches out to shake her hand. 

He knows her name? Is she still on her earth? Is Cisco messing with her again? Is Anthony Bourdain still Anthony Bourdain on that earth? She has so many questions but instead gives him her best smile and softest handshake; she knows it’s generally considered pretty rude to break the hand of your professional idols.

“That’s me. And you’re Anthony Bourdain.” As if he doesn’t know his own name. His own smile is charming and conspiratorial. 

“My friends call me Tony,” he says. 

“Nice to meet you, Tony. I’m just Kara,” she says, still pondering whether or not this could be a Cisco prank. He probably wouldn’t bend dimensions to mess with her like this, right? She’s at her professional job. He wouldn’t mess with that. 

Tony gets settled and digs into his dish, pausing to savor the duck. 

“I gotta say, Kara, I am grateful to you. Between you and me, I thought I was going to die from that hotel chicken.”

They’re both laughing and something clicks into place. She’s at a journalism conference. Anthony Bourdain is a food journalist. She’s pretty sure she even signed up to attend his talk tomorrow morning. No interdimensional hijinks then, probably. 

“I know! I felt the exact same! Luckily, I had, uh, heard about this place from my cousin so I thought I’d swing by,” she says, trying to sound normal. “But, what do you mean grateful to me?”

He takes a slurp from his small soup bowl and gestures to his phone, which is wedged on the tray under an order of fried noodles. 

“On Twitter! I was hoping someone would use that hashtag for something more than live-Tweeting about Anderson Cooper’s hair.” He rolls his eyes. “They’re not wrong but it happens literally every time I attend an event with him.”

Despite the fact that this is an actual dream come true for her, Kara finds herself grinning across the table, completely at ease.

“Happy to help,” she says. “I’m a foodie myself, and I’ve been watching your shows for years since I,” she almost says landed on earth but wouldn’t that make things awkward, “decided to become a journalist. Talking about food, writing about food, and most importantly eating good food is a high priority.”

Tony makes unsurprisingly amazing lunch company, and she ends up ordering another plate of potstickers as their conversation stretches the afternoon. He asks her about her career so far, what her dreams are, and tells her some off-camera stories around his favorite food adventures. 

She can’t necessarily reciprocate without blowing her cover ( _yeah, this one time I had skewed Guinea pig after putting out a forest fire in a South American jungle, you’ve never even heard of the peppers those folks use_ ) but before the meal is up, Kara feels like she’s known Tony forever. Somehow, they’re following each other on Twitter, she’s told him about some amazing Thai curry she’d had last time she was in the area (she doesn’t specify which area), and they have made plans to grab a coffee next time he’s in National City. 

Happy, bloated and lethargic, they clasp arms outside the restaurant and go their separate ways. Kara can’t wait to tell Clark. As the only other Kyrptonian on this planet, he shares her unique appreciation for food and has a small celebrity crush on Anthony Bourdain that she and Lois love to tease him about. He’s going to be so jealous.

…

The second time Kara meets Tony, they are both working. She nods her head respectfully when the Secret Service liaison introduces her as Supergirl and nods a little bit more respectfully when the President’s armored vehicle rolls up to the small noodle restaurant. They are in Hanoi, Vietnam, and Kara has spent the last hour thoroughly casing every building in a 20-mile radius of this building. It only took so long because there are _a lot_ of buildings and she kept on getting distracted by the beautiful trees and foliage interspersed among them.

Hanoi is a beautifully modern city that has seemed to have made peace with the nature surrounding it. Krypton never had that balance, had the extreme opposite of it in fact, and she’s glad her new home isn’t trying to follow the same course. 

“Anthony, Supergirl,” greets the President with a smile. 

They embrace each other like old friends and Kara wonders what Ms. Grant would say if she could see her now. Probably something smug about the company Kiera keeps.

Tony, the President, and their entourage enter the small building that security has already cleared several times over. Their manner is easy and disarming, both of them all smiles, and the pre-screened eaters all rush to their feet until the President waves them away with a laugh.  
Kara can smell the noodles and the tangy bitter beer that the locals seem to favor. She makes a mental note to grab one for Alex on her way home. 

The camera crew gets in position and Tony and the President exchange pleasant conversation about their families and the weather as their mics are attached. Kara can hear the fast heartbeats all around her and smiles to herself. If any of them had ears as good as hers, they would know that she was on the same page. This was probably the coolest DEO-related mission she would ever take part in. 

“All clear, Supergirl?” The voice is from her government-issue earpiece and the signal comes through strong. 

Kara walks over to the small kitchen and peers in at the staff. It is a busy, delicious place and she plans to sample everything once she’s off-shift. For now, she smiles at the star struck server who is fiddling with her apron strings and lets herself concentrate on the cacophony of spicy, soupy, tangy scents in the air, all mixed in with a peculiarly comforting mix of fresh air, dust, cleaning products, and minor food rot. It feels like a hug. 

“Dinner is served,” she answers. 

The next hour is surreal. Kara knows that she’s going to be watching this episode once it’s edited and aired, and it’s a weird feeling to know that her presence just out of shot amounts to something of a State secret. Everyone here is under strict non-disclosure terms to not discuss the Super playing casual security to the major world leader in the room, and Kara makes sure to keep all her senses on alert as Tony and the President share a meal and conduct some masterful cultural diplomacy. 

For as much as she loves being a hero and feels more herself than ever now that she’s come out to the world as Supergirl, Kara the journalist is taking detailed observations on Anthony’s interview style, knowing that he is one of earth’s finest renaissance men and someone she should learn from. Ms. Grant herself had written up CatCo’s profile piece on Anthony when his show had been renewed after season five. James had taken some beautifully composed stills, and they jokingly sent a signed copy to Clark, which Lois assured her had been framed. 

No matter how young human are compared to her species, Kara knows that her parents had chosen well in sending her to Earth. If there was anything that she had learned so far in working in the media for Cat personally and then as a reporter, it was that humans had so far retained an essential freeness and spirit about them that was long gone before Krypton ever met its end. 

She liked to think that early in their history, Kryptonians had the same capacity for compassion, understanding, and flexibility, but even a careful study at the Fortress of Solitude wasn’t able to give her a clear answer on that. Given her own father’s involvement in creating the Medusa virus, maybe she never would. 

Regardless, Kara knew that this very human quality was something that she wanted for herself. Maybe that part wasn’t too surprising. There was a lot of power in Anthony’s ability to build bridges across cultures and species with only a smile and some words, and Kara had certainly gotten a taste for being powerful under this yellow sun. 

Yes, humans had a lot to offer. 

When all is said and done, after the President is safely squirreled away by the Secret Service and their Super escort, Kara returns to the noodle shop feeling like she hasn’t eaten in days. In reality, it’s only been a few hours but with a handful of converted cash she had had exchanged by a startled embassy worker, Kara is ready to demolish the kitchen she had spent the most disciplined hours of her life only smelling. 

Only when she bursts in, Tony is still there, sipping more of that cold beer with some crew and the kind-faced owners of the otherwise empty shop. Their conversation stills when she enters. 

“I’m sorry,” she says sheepishly. “Are you closed now?”

The owner eyes her searchingly, sees the money clenched in her hand and laughs. He waves away her money and in rapid order, gets his son the cook to fire up the stove. 

Ten minutes later, she is happily slurping at the _best noodles ever_. She kind of regrets that she can’t tell her Twitter followers about it but is content that Tony will do that for her. It’s going to be a great episode.

The casual conversations around the room had resumed and Kara finds herself being pulled in by the warm company.

She’s happily enjoying the jumbo-sized bowl of noodles as she listens to Tony and the owner, Lanh, having an in-depth discussion on the flavors of Vietnam. She’s consumed by the noodles though and doesn’t noticed they’re asking her a question until she Lanh taps on her table. 

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Please excuse us for the question, Supergirl, but what was food like on your planet?” It’s Tony who asks it but it’s a very small room and she can feel the attention on her. 

She puts her chopsticks down and stares into the broth with concentration, trying to remember. 

Years ago, the question might have upset her but now, thinking of Krypton, remembering Rao’s glorious red light, only makes her nostalgic. 

“It’s hard to say,” she says, after a long pause. Tony and Lanh are observing her quietly as they sip their beers. 

“My planet had been devoid of natural resources for a long time. Most of our food was manufactured, which was fine,” she says with a shrug. 

“Like protein bars?” asks Tony. She laughs. 

“Keep in mind Krypton had the technology to send me across the galaxy safely.” She will not talk about the Phantom Zone. “Our manufactured food was good enough to be the real thing, even if it didn’t technically meet Earth’s standards.”

“Well, what was your favorite food?” he asks. 

“This is all off the record, right? I know your NDAs ran out a few hours ago.” 

“You can trust us,” says Anthony with a smile, and she believes him. 

“Imports,” she says simply, smiling at the looks of confusion she sees. 

“We had been trading with many different solar systems for a long time by the time I was a child. There are delicacies in this galaxy that I don’t even think your world has words for,” she says wistfully. The room is quiet. 

“And what about your noodles?” asks Lanh with an impish smile. It breaks the tension as intended. 

“These are definitely the best I’ve had on any world.”

Kara is full and tired but makes sure that her new and very inebriated friends are able to find their way back to their hotel before she flies home. 

The next day, Anthony Bourdain’s tweet is the first one she sees pop up on her feed. 

_Eight seasons, wow. And still, when I think we’re approaching the final edge of our Parts Unknown, the Unknown just keeps on getting bigger and bigger. I am truly lucky._

…

The last time Kara sees Tony, Kara the journalist takes him to lunch at her favorite food cart in thanks for being her long-distance friend and mentor, which gets the older man a bit dewy-eyed.

She introduces him to Alex, who manages to relax after two minutes of doing the gushing she promised she wouldn’t do. Tony’s Parts Unknown series has been a regular staple in their sister nights for at least three seasons, so it took until Kara landed a particularly stiff poke on Alex for her sister to stop embarrassing her. 

The conversation leads Alex and Tony to lean over her as they share pictures of their motorcycles. 

Some people share baby pictures, but this is fine too. 

Kara isn’t interested in following along so she squeezes out from between them and take a picture herself to commemorate the moment. It comes out pretty adorable and she posts it ( _albeit artfully cropped_ ) after Tony gives her a thumb’s up and Alex succumbs to her sulking. 

She’ll think about this lunch a lot in the coming months, once Anthony is gone. In the photo that she eventually memorizes, Tony is his usual self; somehow relaxed but frenetic, present in the moment but mind already knee-deep and miles away in the next project. Over barbeque shawarma in the park, he tells them as much as he can about his filming schedule for the upcoming season, about how excited he is to go to places like Armenia, Bhutan, and Berlin.

“Those places, those people, they’re part of this long legacy of weathering all this calamity, all of this bullshit. The rise and fall of empires. Whole populations there forever and then suddenly just – violently not. And food is that common lineage, you know? It’s the thing left standing. These people are worlds apart but they’re also really not, you know? They have the brutality in common, yeah, but there’s also so much beauty.”

Alex and Kara share a small, sad smile. He sounds a lot like Jeremiah.

“Totally.”

…

When it’s all said and done, and her tears are all spent and her sister finally gets that Kara is feeling smothered and will come find her when she’s ready, Kara wonders about that idyllic lunch at the food truck. It was only a few months ago. Is there something she could have done to prevent this? A sign she could have seen? Some kind of irritation or tic that stood out? She’s gone over it in her mind for days, reviewing every last interaction, down to their last Twitter exchange, and can’t find anything.

She’s felt the pain of losing friends before, losing family, losing everything. She copes in the only way she knows how. The morning after she learns of Tony’s suicide, she flies high up to the edge of Earth’s atmosphere. She knows the people of this planet do not worship their sun in the ways that she is familiar with, but she thinks Anthony would appreciate the gesture anyways. Half-frozen, even for her, she prays to rising light that her friend found his peace. 

She says goodbye, and then lets herself freefall until she can feel her fingers again.


End file.
